Chapter Text
Six o’clock came with a decisive snap of the shop doors and their lock beneath Derek’s hands.
“Goodness!” Asa looked up from behind the till, where he’d just finished tidying away some leftover bits of string and paper from wrapping the last purchase of the day. “Eager to be done today, are we?”
“Yes we are,” Derek said, turning back to Asa with a particularly bright glint in his eyes, “More reason than usual to get you out of here on time today, haven’t we?”
“Mmm.” Asa began poking at the till to run it through its settling procedure, his ears rather pink.
“Not getting cold feet, I hope?”
“Certainly not!” Asa protested. He hit the enter key with rather more force than was necessary, and subsequently failed to move out of the way of the cash drawer, which ejected itself with its usual and equally unnecessary force directly into his stomach. “Oof! I mean, no, not really.” His hands went about their duties automatically. “It’s just, I don’t know anything about this man, do I? He could be a complete bore. And I practically hunted him down in the street, didn’t I! What if he only said yes to get away from me?”
“Asa Fell.” Derek turned about as severely as one could do while perched on a somewhat rickety ladder near the top of a bookcase, “Stop talking nonsense. Would you have hunted him down in the street if he seemed like a bore? Would he have come in to talk to you after passing by the window five times if he wasn’t interested? Hah!” Derek pointed at Asa’s startled face, chortling, then grabbed at the ladder to steady himself. “Didn’t catch that, did you? No, no, I have a feeling Professor Anthony Crowley might be just the sort you’re looking for.”
“I’m not exactly looking…” Asa trailed off, staring down at the stacks of coins on the desk.
“I know.” Derek descended the ladder, Pratchetts put to rights. “But that doesn’t need to stop you from finding, does it?”
“I suppose not.”
“Buck up then, my lad! The worst that can happen is you have a nice dinner with tiresome conversation and never have to see him again.”
“I haven’t even left myself time to go home and change.” Asa looked up from the coins in sudden consternation. Derek chuckled.
“I’ll pop upstairs and find you a tie. If I can’t appreciate you at your most bookseller-y, he doesn’t deserve you at all.”
“You’re a gem, Derek.”
“I’m a nosy old codger who expects a full report tomorrow.”
*
The door of the restaurant they’d agreed on looked as welcoming as ever when Asa stood before it at six twenty-nine (and thirty seconds, to be precise, not that he’d loitered on the corner to make sure he wasn’t going to be early). Choosing to take this as a good sign, he pushed open the door and, even as he gave a cheery greeting to the host, his eyes swept across the room. And there at the bar—
“Hello!” Anthony turned at the sound of the voice to see Asa in the entryway, looking just as he had on Meadow Lane, if a bit less flushed, and with the absolutely charming addition of a bow tie.
“Hello!” Asa strode across the carpet with as much confidence as he could muster. “Wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
“Told you I’d wait for you. Oh! Here,” Anthony reached for the seat next to him, which two books lay, the bottom one in a neatly creased brown paper bag. He lifted the top one and held it out to Asa. “I seem to have made off with this.”
“Oh, thank you. Entirely my fault, I’m sure.” Asa put out his hand to take the book, and in doing so, felt the warmth of skin at the end of his fingertips, just beyond the grip of his hands. Anthony let go and gestured to the bar, where a half-empty half-pint glass sat on a coaster.
“Can I get you a drink? Wasn’t sure what you’d like. Our table should be ready any—”
“Crowley, party of two?”
“—ah, there we are!” Anthony slid down from his stool, and together he and Asa fell in silently behind the host, following her to a table in a back corner; not exactly separate from the rest of the place, but not in the thick of the action either. They settled into their chairs with shedding of jackets and words of thanks to the host, who deposited their menus and left them in silence. Not exactly silence, either; there was of course the background noise of other patrons chatting and whatever music was being pumped throughout the place at a reasonable volume, and the other sundry noises of such a place. Asa cleared his throat.
“Asa Fell,” he said, extending his hand. Anthony looked at it, bemused.
“I know.”
“Yes, well, I thought it might be nice to start by introducing myself properly.”
“Suppose we haven’t, at that.” Anthony grasped the proffered hand and gave it a firm shake. “Anthony Crowley.”
“Professor Anthony Crowley, I believe?”
“Ssh, they’ll tack on ten percent to the bill if they hear that.”
Asa laughed. Their hands slipped apart with mutual regret, and he busied himself with looking at the menu. Anthony cleared his throat.
“I thought about the garden, but the clouds looked threatening. But we’ve still got a bit of it here!” He flipped one hand up at the frosted window behind the table, where the shapes and colours of one of the garden’s sprawling bushes could be seen.
“Oh no, it’s perfect! I shouldn’t like to get caught in the rain during dinner in February.”
“Good. Great.”
“Can I get you started with some drinks?” They both looked up to see the smiling server with her notepad.
“Oh! Yes, er—” Asa flipped over the card containing the signature cocktail list, giving it a cursory glance. “I’ll have the blue peaflower G&T, that’s always a winner.”
“Same for me.”
“Really?” Asa turned to Anthony as their server departed. “Wouldn’t have pinned you for a peaflower fellow.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have pinned you for the sort that runs after people in the street.”
Asa began to be offended, but it came out as a laugh. Anthony grinned, the flicker of nerves that had sprung up in the pit of his stomach as the quip left his mouth receding. He was about to venture another query, when Asa beat him to it.
“So, what sort would you have pinned me for, then?” Asa asked, and Anthony thought he caught the flicker of an arched eyebrow before Asa looked away under the pretence of pulling his napkin from its ring.
“Erm— well.” Anthony had not been expecting to be riposted quite so directly. “Well… perhaps the sort who might enjoy lunchtime strolls in the Meadows? Where it’s entirely possible to bump into all sorts of people.”
“Such as professors of astrophysics?”
“Stranger things have happened at Uplands Roast.”
“Oh, I love Uplands Roast!” And Asa was off, rhapsodising about the hot chocolate which, while it certainly was Instagram-worthy, was also perfectly delicious. Their drinks arrived while he was in full flow about marshmallows and Anthony scarcely noticed, taking a sip of the purplish liquid absently, only to be surprised at the sweet, tangy bite of it. His reaction must have showed in his face, for Asa lit up.
“Delectable, isn’t it?” He lifted his own glass and took a deep, appreciative draught. “I’ve never worked out how they managed to get it so sweet and so sharp at the same time. And the floral with the aromatics of the gin is just—” Asa pinched his fingers and lips together in the universal sign for chef’s kiss. Anthony lifted his glass, gazing into its depths with thoughts of chemistry swirling around his brain. Beyond the glass, a different set of colours swirled, as far above the window a cloud moved and let pale shaft of light slip through, touching Asa’s eyes with gentle sun.
“Sorry, what was that?” Anthony replaced his glass just a little more sharply than intended, realising he hadn’t heard a word of whatever it was the mouth below the eyes had just said.
“I said, we should probably make decisions, they do tend to be rather prompt here.”
“Right, of course.” Anthony took up his menu, pretending he hadn’t spent a good fifteen minutes of the time he’d been waiting for Asa perusing it. As if summoned by Asa’s suggestion, their server returned. Anthony’s suggestion of a bottle of wine to go with the meal was received with beaming concurrence by Asa. Discussion of wine and the intricacies of pairing it carried them through several fascinating minutes wherein it was revealed that while Anthony knew what he liked and was fairly particular about it, he was more than willing to drink whatever he liked alongside whatever he happened to be eating, whereas Asa had spent a number of years slowly accruing sommelier credentials as a sideline, and had very firm opinions about what things went together. They had, fortunately, agreed on a bottle before all this came to light.
“So what I’m beginning to gather,” Anthony said, spinning his wine glass in his fingers, “is that you’re a bit of a foodie and something of a wine snob, with excellent taste in cocktails and questionable taste in books.”
“Well I— questionable taste in books!” Asa lowered his glass, just avoiding a sputter. “How do you gather that?”
“Bought mine, didn’t you?”
“Oh, come now,” Asa fixed Anthony with a severe look, “It’s one thing to be self-deprecating, but—”
“Didn’t say bad, did I? I said questionable.”
“Very well, Professor Crowley,” Asa dabbed his lips primly, “explain yourself.” He watched the ever-so-slight smugness on Anthony’s face mutate into ever-so-slight consternation, and found himself ever-so-slightly fixated on the way his lips pressed together as his thoughts reorganised themselves.
“Well. There’s a reason it hasn’t sold, isn’t there? Astrophysics for Everyone,” Anthony’s fingers splayed out in the air to underline the title. “Sounds like a gimmick, or a kids’ book. But it’s not either, not really. Astrophysics is in everything, so it should be for everyone! I wanted to write about it in a way that could introduce it to anyone who was interested, no specific background required. Bring the cosmos down to earth, y’know? But as it turns out, there’s not much of a market for that sort of thing. If it’s not a hook-the-kiddies-on-STEM or Serious Scientific Drivel, nobody seems to want it. So, questionable. I’m surprised Derek kept it around so long, to be honest.”
“I, for one, am glad he did,” Asa settled his glass onto the table, and for just the briefest moment, his fingertips onto the back of Anthony’s wrist. “And shall look forward to reading it immensely. I haven’t the foggiest about astrophysics.”
Their meals chose that moment to arrive, which gave Asa an excuse to exclaim over them and retract his hand, and Anthony an excuse to do something other than stare at Asa, pulling his own napkin out of its ring and flapping it onto his lap. Anthony had fallen back on his usual tactic when eating somewhere nice he wasn’t terribly familiar with (this place having gone through at least two owners since he’d last ventured inside) of ordering a steak, which he considered it was very hard to get wrong to such a degree he couldn’t manage to enjoy it. And indeed as he cut into the filet, swimming in its creamy peppercorn sauce, he saw it was perfectly pink, with just the right amount of give at the end of his knife. He had just transferred the first bite into his mouth when he was utterly distracted by what could only be described as a blissful sigh from next door. Mid-chew, Anthony looked up over his glasses to see Asa, also clearly enjoying his first bite with great enthusiasm, and either unaware of or entirely unembarrassed about the sound he’d just made.
“Mmm, that’s scrummy! A perfect confit, I don’t know when I’ve had duck so tender. Yours alright?”
“Yeah, lovely.” Anthony managed, finishing his chew at last and making another cut. As Asa loaded the back of his fork with what looked like some kind of large bean and chunks of shining bacon, Anthony retreated to the more stable ground of small talk. “So have you always been a— whadjer call it, anyway— a bookseller?”
“Right in one! No, not always.” Asa popped the assembly of beans and bacon into his mouth, tucking them neatly to chew on one side as he went on, “Derek persuaded me to join him after I finished teaching.”
“Teaching! What’d you teach?”
“English literature. And drama, if you can believe it.”
“Sure I can. Oh I bet the customers love you, give our free lessons with the books?”
“Sometimes,” Asa’s cheeks pinked, “When they ask.”
“Remind me to ask something about literature next time. So where’d you teach? George Heriot’s?” Anthony pressed, rather smoothly in his mind, past the idea of next time.
“James Gillespie’s, actually. High school.” Asa took a sip of wine. “I was headhunted by George Heriot’s if you must know, but in the end I felt I could best serve the young people of my adopted city at a state school. And what a joy it was!” Asa swelled up inside the way he did every time he thought of his former school, of all the students he’d nurtured over the years, and of all the shining moments that far outweighed any of the pitfalls of a teaching career. “I’m enormously proud to have taught there.”
“I bet you were brilliant.”
“Well, one doesn’t like to toot one’s own horn. And you?” Asa resisted the urge to look away from the soft dark eyes that felt as if they could see right through him. “How do you find teaching? That is, I assume—”
“No no, you’re quite right, research-only jobs are pretty thin on the ground these days. I sort of fell into it when I was working on my doctorate and never looked back, really. Does me good to have something to keep me from spending all my time in a dark room staring at screens and such anyway. Feet on the ground, head in the clouds, and all that.” Anthony gestured with his fork, narrowly avoiding the bulb of his wine glass. “Bit of time with the students reminds me… well, why I do it all, I suppose. Someone’s going to make the next great discovery, it might be me, or it might be someone I helped understand that they can do it too. Astrophysics for everyone.” Anthony shoved a large piece of meat into his mouth to stop himself wandering any further down that philosophical path.
“Astrophysics for everyone.” Asa smiled, and applied himself to his duck.
Some more meandering conversation about teaching, the woes of marking, various books and films and a second glass of wine each led them to the end of their entrées. A pair of lifted eyebrows and the suggested of “Can I tempt you to pudding?” was met with an enthusiastic “Oh go on then,” leading to black forest chocolate mousse and a sticky toffee pudding, presented with two spoons for sharing, and two glasses of tawny port. Coffee followed that, and after a fair bit of lingering over the dregs, their server came by to point out, as kindly as possible, that the place would be closing in ten minutes. Immediately Asa flushed to the roots of his hair and began to stammer an apology, but Anthony only waved a hand and asked for the bill.
“I’ll get this,” he said, but Asa shook his head firmly.
“No, we should split, this was my idea.”
“And I said yes! And convinced you to get both puds.”
“I really—”
“Go on, let me treat. I almost never go out of my own accord anyway. Let me put this Professor money to some use for once.”
“Well, if you must.”
“I really must. Thank you.” The card reader beeped at the end of Anthony’s phone and their server bade them a cheerful goodnight, no doubt pleased with the haphazard way he’d jabbed at the tip screen. Together they donned jackets and gathered up books and meandered out into the street, where they turned to face each other beneath the restaurant’s awning, shoulders huddling up against the wind.
“That was— lovely, just lovely, Anthony. Thank you for not fleeing when I ran after you in the street.” Asa was grinning in the dim ambience of fairy lights strung up under the awning. “I hope—”
“Would you like to go out again sometime?” Anthony blurted. He could have blamed the amount of wine he’d consumed over the course of the evening, but really, all it had done was lower his inhibitions just enough.
“Oh!” Asa could also have blamed the wine for the heat in his cheeks, but if he was honest, it had come from the same place as the vigorous butterflies in his tummy. “Yes! I would. Very much.”
“Saturday maybe?”
“Valentine’s Day?”
Anthony’s mouth opened and closed silently. His jaw worked side to side against itself. Asa was quite certain that his face was very close to becoming the same colour as his hair.
“Errr….. no, no of course not, I didn’t mean— sorry, that was—”
“I promise not to, as the youths say, ‘make it weird,’ if you won’t.”
“Wot?” Anthony was torn between wishing the pavement would open up and swallow him and wondering if now would not be an inappropriate moment to kiss the cheekily pursed lips before him.
“Yes, Anthony, I should love to see you on Saturday. I know just the place, in fact, if you’re amenable to suggestions.”
“More than. I— have you got a phone?”
“Yes! But, damn,” Asa was patting his pockets in consternation, “I do have a terrible habit of leaving it at home, I’m afraid.”
“Let me see your book.” Anthony pulled it from beneath Asa’s arm before he could reply, flipping it open to the title page awkwardly in one hand, while he fished around in his pocket with the other. Withdrawing a battered biro, he lowered it to the page.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you my number.”
“Anthony!” Asa could only laugh as Anthony scrawled the digits onto the page beneath his considerably more elegant signature. “Thank you. I’ll text you when I get home, so you’ll have mine.”
“You alright to get home then?”
“Yes, I’m not far. You?”
“Bit of a walk, but it’ll do me good.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Yeah.”
Ther regarded each other for a moment. Asa gave a somewhat squeaky chuckle.
“I’m not quite sure what to do. Do we hug?”
“Can do.”
With an awkwardness that was just as mutual as their desire to do the thing, they managed to negotiate arms into an embrace. Asa tipped his head and pressed his lips quickly to Anthony’s jaw and with a breathy,
“Safe home!” he was hurrying away down the pavement. Anthony stared after him, fingers glued to the spot where Asa’s lips had touched. The way they’d tingled was surely in his imagination, but he hung onto the feeling anyway, watching until the tweed jacket and pale head had quite disappeared, before turning on his heels to stride away into the night. It was a somewhat slower stride than usual between the lingering effects of the wine and the contemplation of the evening turning itself over and over in his head. At some point, the phone buzzed in his pocket. Anthony pulled it out to see an uncatalogued number, underneath which was the message:
Thank you for a perfectly lovely evening. Please let me know when you’ve made it home safely. Will be in touch about Saturday anon, as Derek would say!
Anthony almost walked into a bus shelter. Neither the snickers of the laddish types occupying it nor the soft rain that began to fall could dampen his spirits, and before he was properly aware of the time passing or his legs conveying his body, the garden gate was at hand. The only thing that could make this night better, Anthony thought, glancing upward as he fumbled for his keys, was if there were a clear sky and stars to celebrate with. The rain battered his glasses in relentless remonstrance for his lingering, and he pushed through the door. Jacket doffed, he retrieved his phone and, after scrubbing one hand dry on his trousers, tapped out a text to Asa.
Home safe
Anthony had only to wait until he was halfway up the stairs before his phone was lighting up again. With a thought to the peril of the stairs, he waited until he’d made his way away from them and into the bedroom before looking at it.
Sweet dreams.
Anthony flopped onto his bed, grinning like a fool.